A poem about lost love.
I have "tweaked" this poem many times, so there maybe different versions elsewhere. Not all poetry has to rhyme as you can see.

Bluebell Weeks.

Those few precious weeks
we shared that summer.

 Remember?

I blame the weather,
hot and heady,
unusual for early May.

A profusion of bluebells had
burst forth,
as did our passion.

Their sweetness intoxicated
our senses, made us reckless, oblivious to reality.

We lost track of time as we lay in bluebell woods.


Afterwards, we gathered many.
I held some  to your face..
You smiled.

Those delicate blue trumpets
 reflected in your grey eyes,
making them blue.

I remember you saying,
"I'll always love you"


Soon those smiling eyes
became sad.

Our weeks of passion quickly passed,
as did the bluebells.

It was over.
The parting wasn't sweet.

We were not free.
You made a choice;
it wasn't mine.

Now when I see a mass of bluebells,
I think of you.

Still feel a sadness,
for what might have been.